


The Hylia Cycle

by foreverephemeral



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Angst, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Angst, Lots of Original Characters - Freeform, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Sidon is mentioned in a flashback, post-BOTW
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-11-08 06:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11075598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverephemeral/pseuds/foreverephemeral
Summary: Over 200 years after the defeat of Calamity Ganon, a changed Hyrule faces the looming threat of Malice's return. A new Hero awakens in the Shrine of Resurrection with no memories; a new Princess struggles to awaken her sacred power; and the only hope of Hyrule's redemption lies in the very cycle of rebirth that threatens to doom the kingdom once more. Post-BOTW.





	1. Prologue: Official Royal Business

**Author's Note:**

> A note on the timeline: Calamity Ganon returned in the year 1 A.C. and was defeated in 100 A.C. Thus to see how long after Breath of the Wild an event took place, take the year A.C. and subtract 100. Also note: All events prior to 1 A.C. take place in years B.C. (Before Calamity). 1 A.C. to 100 A.C. are also occasionally referred to as the 100 Years of Calamity.

**3 years ago – 314 A.C.**

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.

.

"140 years ago, in the year 174 A.C., the Hylian Champion Link of Hateno, son of Roc and Kitti, defeated the incarnation of Malice known merely as Lesser Malice. In the evil creature's death throes, however, the Champion was mortally wounded. Death would have been certain if not for the quick thinking of the queen at the time, Queen Silena—yes, _the_ Queen Silena, granddaughter of the legendary Queen Zelda and the first Hylian Champion, Prince Consort Link. Under Silena's command, a group of soldiers carried the fallen Champion here, to the Royal Armory atop the Great Plateau—though in those days it was still the Shrine of Resurrection. It was Silena's son, Lyman, who developed the Shrine into the Armory we know today. With the help of ancient technology, Lyman and a crew of royal scientists were able to replicate the healing properties of the original Resurrection Cradle, creating what you see here today: cryopods. We call them the Tubes. Here at the Armory, royal scientists work alongside Yiga engineers to keep this place in tip-top shape. We're always working to improve the technology and integrate new scientific discoveries, so that the warriors – and Heroes – of yesterday will be ready if Malice strikes tomorrow.

"Well, Your Highnesses, here he is. The Hero himself. He used to be located in the entry hall in the Resurrection Cradle, but with new advancements we were able to create a special resting place for him: the Goddess Tube. It might look like your ordinary cryopod, sure, but it's the latest in a line of purely Yiga technology. Since the downfall of the Sheikah fifteen years ago, we've been working to phase out the old Sheikah tech and move forward with the latest in restorative technology. It all culminated in this: the Goddess Tube, where the Hero's body now sleeps, waiting to be Resurrected whenever Malice should once again threaten his beloved land of Hyrule.

"So, Princess Zelda, Princess Lydia. What do you think?"

"I think it's ghastly," whispered Princess Lydia to her older sister.

"Hush," Zelda reprimanded her under her breath. "He was willing to give his life for us." She turned to the guide and smiled her best princess smile. "It's fascinating, thank you."

"I thought you'd say that," the man grinned. He was a Hylian of medium build, with light brown skin and a thick head of dark hair. His eyes were golden behind his enormous spectacles. His uniform, unlike the standard royal blue of the guards, consisted of gray overalls and a pressed white shirt. Zelda wondered whether he usually dressed like this, or if this was a formality presented only to members of the royal family.

Two blank-faced guards were stationed at the doors, bearing no visible weapons—or emotions. Zelda supposed either would be useless this deep into the catacombs that had been carved by Goron engineers beneath the Plateau nearly 150 years ago. Anyone who reached this room would have to get past a hundred guards, two at each doorway and several patrolling both inside and out; and even if anyone did manage to get inside, he'd be left to navigate through a tricky labyrinth of passages lined with lesser warriors' Tubes. This room, the Hero's Chamber, was located deep below the heart of the Plateau, surrounded on all sides by nothing but solid, impassable rock. There was only one way in and one way out.

It occurred to Zelda, suddenly, that she ought to be more afraid here, beneath tons of rock in a tiny room with one exit with only her sister, a guide, two guards, and the body of a fallen Hero; not even her personal guard was allowed in this room. She was delighted to find she was not afraid—not even a little.

A third guard appeared at the door and gestured importantly at the guide. The man adjusted his glasses and looked nervous for all of a second before turning to the princesses cheerily.

"Looks like your father's calling for me. Official royal business, you know. Why don't you girls stay here, have a look around? If you need anything, just ask Tess or Harvin there." He gestured to the guards, whose faces remained impassive. "Your Highnesses," he added as an afterthought, and, bowing, followed the guard down the corridor.

While she was facing the door, Zelda took the opportunity to a little more closely at the guards—Tess and Harvin—and realized perhaps they didn't need weapons to fight effectively. She hoped that was the case. She wasn't sure whether she'd feel better if they had weapons.

Then she realized their weapon was right in front of her.

The Hero.

In the vertical tube before her, a young man – her age or perhaps a little older – was suspended in a strange, glowing blue liquid. He wore nothing but a pair of dark blue shorts—boxers? Zelda didn't tend to concern herself with the particulars of men's undergarments—which left the rest of his body in full view. Despite his lanky build, his body was muscled and covered with scars of all sizes, from wide pink gashes to hair-thin lines barely visible through the glass and the liquid. His shoulder-length blond hair was loose in the liquid, moving gently in an invisible current; his eyes were closed. He looked—peaceful. Almost as if he were really just asleep. Zelda placed a hand on the glass, wishing that he could remain in that sleep forever. After fighting Malice, he deserved that, didn't he? Had he given Silena his consent to be brought here? What right did her ancestor have to make that decision for him? Here he was to remain young and broken forever, to be treated like a weapon, a piece of metal to be thrown at the enemy whenever necessary. That was no way to treat someone who saved the kingdom. Surely he wouldn't want this. And if he didn't—didn't he deserve a say in his fate?

Her sister's voice broke her from her reverie.

"Official royal business." Lydia was staring at the Goddess Tube, frowning. "Father wouldn't have brought us here if he didn't have _official royal business_." These words she spat sourly.

"Lydia." Zelda moved closer to her sister and placed a hand on her shoulder. Lydia shrugged it off, stepping away. "Lydia," Zelda said again. "He's trying his best, okay? He didn't have to bring us along. He could have left us at the castle."

"I wish he had. At least then we wouldn't be stuck in this creepy place." Lydia kicked the base of the Tube. The thirteen-year-old had inherited their mother's black hair and brown eyes—and her temper. Zelda shot a glance over her shoulder at the guards, who merely watched more closely.

"Don't," Zelda hissed, grabbing Lydia's shoulders and moving her away. Lydia tore herself free from her sister's grasp, but Zelda went on, "Look, I know it's been hard since Mother died. Especially for Father. You know how he kept to himself for so long. But he's trying to include us in his life again. Don't fault him for trying to fix things."

Lydia was quiet. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes. Angry, she lifted her head and looked at Zelda. "Why couldn't they have brought Mother here?" she asked, voice breaking. "They could have saved her, like they saved—like they saved him." She threw an arm out, gesturing toward the Hero.

"Oh, Lydia." Zelda had to look away from her sister's tearful face, fearing she'd start crying herself. "I—I thought that myself. Not just for Mother, but for—"

"Hilda," Lydia realized, eyes wide. "Zel, I—"

"I looked in every book I could find, because I had to know—had to know if there was still a chance… for… for either of them. But the thing about cryostasis… the subject has to be living, Lydia."

Lydia let out a quiet sob. "Mother," she whispered.

"It would have been too late," Zelda replied softly.

They were quiet a minute. Zelda was all too aware of the guards' presence. "Wipe your eyes," she said sharply, her sympathy evaporating. "We don't want Father walking in on us like this."

Lydia glared at her, scrubbing at her face. "Just when I thought you were being nice to me," she muttered.

"I'm sorry, Lydia," Zelda said, not sounding or feeling very sorry, "but we're princesses, do you understand? We have to be strong. Valiant and steady. We must represent our country at all times, show no weaknesses. Because our weaknesses are Hyrule's weaknesses—just as our strength is Hyrule's strength."

Lydia sniffed. "Is that what Father tells you? Why you act more like a robot than a human being?" She turned and muttered under her breath, "You couldn't even cry when Mother died."

Zelda exploded. "Enough!" she snarled. "I bear my pain in silence, as is my duty to my country." Her voice broke, and she added, "You would do well to do the same." She whirled on the guards, finger stabbing across the room at them. "Not a word about this, understand?"

"Yes, Your Highness," came the murmur of assent. Neither guard gave any indication that they much cared. Tess even had the gall to look bored. This sent a fresh wave of fury through Zelda, but she forced herself to take a breath and calm herself.

"I apologize," she said to Lydia, who turned away in a huff. She added, half desperate, "I'm just—frustrated. You know that. I'm 15 years old and still my powers haven't surfaced. The Gift hasn't manifested so late since the first Zelda—all those years ago. And with the rumors of Malice's return—Father places more pressure on me now than ever. You know how hard that is for me. You _know_ that."

"Yeah, whatever," came the huffed reply.

Zelda looked at Lydia's back, feeling more distant from her sister than ever—more alone than ever. After a moment, she sighed, and her gaze was drawn back to the Hero's slumbering face. _If we had known each other, would we have been friends?_ she wondered, reaching out as if to touch his face through the glass.

Just then came the sounds of conversation from down the corridor, the deep boom of her father's laugh included. Arranging her features in an expression of neutral interest, Zelda turned to face the king.

"Zelda!" her father boomed in greeting. King Leon was a large man, his shoulders barely fitting through the narrow entranceway. He spread his arms wide as though to embrace Zelda but paused a few feet away, looking uncertainly to Lydia, who half turned to meet his gaze before looking away quickly. "Lydia," he added more quietly. "My dear, lovely daughters." His blue eyes flicked to meet Zelda's. Within them were a question, but she shook her head.

The guide slipped into the room, followed by an escort of guards and a group of scientists, distinguishable by their different outfits—dark blue uniforms for the guards, white for the scientists. The royal family's symbol was emblazoned on all of their chests, just over the heart, to symbolize where their loyalties lay. There seemed to be some enmity between the guards and the scientists, as they didn't stand too close to each other; that and there seemed to be some exchanging of glares.

"Er, Your Majesty, would you and your daughters like to see Sir Lucas Harrow? Captain of the Guard under Silena and later Lyman. Knighted for his services in the fight against Lesser Malice…" The guide trailed off, noting the dark look Lydia cast his way. "Or perhaps you'd like to be escorted out. You've had a long day, yes?"

"Yes, thank you, Walhart," Leon murmured, not quite paying attention. His gaze was locked on the Goddess Tube and the Hero inside.

"Willard," the guide corrected. "Willard Strum, Your Majesty." He cleared his throat, but Leon didn't turn. The blue glow of the Tube cast his face and cropped blond hair in a blue hue. "W-well, yes, ah, right this way, Majesty, Highnesses," Willard stammered. "Back to the surface, yes? Foll—follow me."

He hurried out of the chamber, the scientists in tow; the guards idled outside the door, waiting for their liege. Lydia swept out of the room, resolutely not looking at her father. Zelda made to leave but hesitated, looking back at King Leon.

"Will—" Her voice faltered, and she had to start again. "Father, if Malice returns, will—will we have to wake him? The Hero?"

Finally Leon turned away from the Tube. "Daughter," he replied, "I was wondering the same thing." He clapped a hand on her shoulder. "But enough of that. We'll both sprout gray hairs with all this worrying. Let's go home, shall we? I think we're both in need of a good meal and some rest, yes? And we'll see how your sister is doing. Giovanna, that is. I do hope her cold has cleared up."

"Yes, Father," Zelda murmured, letting her father guide her out of the chamber. Before they left, however, she glanced once more over her shoulder at the Hero.

She could have sworn she saw his eyelids twitch out of the corner of her eye, but by the time she stepped out into the night air, she had dismissed it as a trick of the light and forgotten it.

.

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	2. Chapter One: The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two Chosen wake up and face the things that threaten to break them.

.

.

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**314 A.C.**

**— link —**

Nothing, then—

A voice. Voices.

"...back..."

"...Malice..."

"...Code Yellow, you heard me, we've got a Code..."

A blur of light. Color...

"...Reid! Captain Reid! The Scabbard's active!"

"Somebody get the docs down here, stat!"

A face swam in the air above him. A young man. Blue-green eyes. A smile, white and neat teeth.

The man spoke: "Welcome back to the living, Hero."

His limbs were invisible. They—they didn't exist. He struggled to move, but the man pushed him down, gently. "Easy, there."

He was on the floor. His—why was—where—what was going on—

Feeling fizzed at the tips of his fingers, white noise filling his limbs. Wetness beneath him. Sharp pieces of—glass? Above him the room flashed red. "Wh—" He tried to speak, but his voice was raw, broken.

"Easy, Link," said the man, gentle. Then, all of a sudden, loud: "I need a medic over here! Scabbard takes priority!"

He winced at the sharp noise. Link—that was his name? He was Link? He wasn't—Hero? Who—

A woman in white appeared at the man's shoulder, a syringe in hand. "Captain," she said.

"Don't you worry," the Captain said to him as the woman bent over him. "This won't hurt..."

A pinch. Darkness flooding his body, turning him invisible again.

_Wait,_ he said, or maybe thought—

He was shattering, bits and pieces of him spiraling away into the dark—

He was terror and tiredness, he was flame and fury—

He was—

_Link_ , he thought desperately. _I am Link._

Then—

Nothing.

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* * *

**3 years later** – **317 A.C.**

**—zelda—**

She was being kissed.

This should have been reason enough to suspect something was off, something was wrong—but she couldn't bring herself to think, not with these lips on hers, these hands on her waist. She was hungry, so hungry for this; impatient, she bucked her hips forward, trying to grind against something, anything, to appease the _want_ —and the hands were between her legs now; she knew they were there, right there yes perfect, but it wasn't perfect, she couldn't feel them, they were so far away, why couldn't she feel them, why couldn't she—

In an instant the world crashed back down around her, and Zelda was awake.

A dream, she realized. It had been a dream.

Then she thought: Of course it had been a dream.

And: Of course _that_ had been her dream.

Scowling, she scrubbed the sleep from her eyes and removed the dreamkeeper from her head, as though removing it could stop it from capturing the lewd things she'd imagined during the night. It was to no avail, of course—the dreamkeeper captured dreams as they happened—but still, Zelda had to feel like she was in some control over the matter.

The dreamkeeper had been invented many years ago, during the childhood of her grandmother, Queen Zelda Kerrington. There was an old sepia picture in the family album featuring the old Zelda, perhaps twelve years old, a prototype dreamkeeper of wires and metal fitted over her head; she was smiling from ear to ear, proudly displaying her missing right front tooth. The caption read, _Princess Zelda II cheerfully models the new dreamkeeper device._ Nowadays the device was smaller, more comfortable, more discreet—but that didn't make it any less embarrassing when it captured your wet dreams.

Its real purpose was to record the dreams of the eldest princess in order to prevent the forgetting of any important, prophetic dream—apparently eldest princesses were the most likely to be chosen to receive Nayru's Gift, also known in certain circles as the sacred sealing power, or the Triforce of Wisdom, though that name was archaic.

With the Gift came dreams of the future—dreams that even today, as she turned eighteen years old, Princess Zelda III had yet to receive.

There was a part of her that had been hoping the Gift would miraculously present itself today, on the day she came of age—and yet she felt nothing, no indication that she was any wiser or any more capable of sealing a centuries-old evil than yesterday.

"So much for a happy birthday," she muttered, and rolled out of bed.

.

.

.

"You look lovely, Your Highness."

Zelda met Maripaz's eyes in the looking-glass and forced herself to smile in agreement, though inwardly she wished she could believe her maid's kind words.

She looked—well, like everyone at her birthday party would be expecting her to look. An actress playing the part of the beautiful princess, bedecked in jewels and silk and about a hundred hairpins. She could smile for the crowd, speak a few pretty words, be the leader her father expected her to be. But inside—would there always be this crippling doubt, this fear that she'd never live up to their expectations?

She pursed her lips, making fierce eyes at her reflection. Behind her, Maripaz fiddled with a hairpin. "I do wish you hadn't cut your hair, Highness," she said. "Makes it so much harder to style."

"But so much easier to manage," Zelda pointed out, glad for something else to think about. She rather liked the way her hair looked; just two months ago she'd decided to chop it off at her chin, tired of her old waist-length haircut. It had looked just like her grandmother's hair when she was her age—and Zelda was tired of trying to live up to her grandmother.

"I suppose," Maripaz murmured, only half paying attention to the conversation. Zelda took advantage of her distraction to stare more openly at her maid's reflection. Maripaz was twenty years old and had served as her personal maid for three years, replacing her governess, Elena, when she retired. Maripaz hailed from Lurelin Village to the southeast and had the brown skin and dark hair typical of natives to that region. She was a terrible gossip, quick to speak her mind, and always willing to fetch snacks from the kitchen at odd hours—and Zelda was hopelessly enamored with her. Still, there was something different about her today—something calmer, more mature, almost as though it were Maripaz who was coming of age, and not Zelda.

"You're awfully quiet today, Maripaz," Zelda began. Maripaz jumped and removed her hands from Zelda's hair. "Is there something the matter?"

"Well, Your Highness, since you asked—yes."

"Well then," Zelda said briskly, rising and walking to her bedside table to fetch her earrings from her jewelry box, "we're friends, aren't we? You can tell me."

"Your Highness," Maripaz said slowly, carefully, "I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news for you."

Zelda forced the fear from her face at those words and carefully began putting one earring in. "Yes?" Her hands were trembling.

"I'm resigning as your maid."

Zelda stumbled and turned to look at her, dropping the other earring and knocking over the picture of her mother on her bedside table. "Wh-why?" she stammered, then amended, fumbling with the picture, "That is, I wasn't expecting—"

Maripaz hurried over and picked up the fallen earring, pressing it back into Zelda's hand. "I know," she said, apologetic, "and on your birthday, too. But—I couldn't just leave it for someone else to tell. The thing is, Your Highness—I'm getting married."

Something within Zelda shattered. Slowly, she put down the earring and forced herself to choke out, "Con—congratulations."

Maripaz picked up the earring from the table and leaned in close to Zelda's face to put it in for her. Zelda stilled, very much aware of her maid's closeness, of the warmth of her hands on her earlobe. Maripaz said, "He's my best friend from Lurelin—Camren." She made as if to touch Zelda's cheek, but stepped back at the last second. "Oh, Your Highness, you'd love him, I know you would. He's so kind, and gentle and brave—I just wish I could stay. But you understand"—her smile was sad—"don't you?"

"Yes," Zelda whispered. "I understand."

"Zofia will be replacing me. You know her, don't you, Your Highness?"

"Yes," Zelda murmured. She raised a hand to her ear, feeling the earring dangle against her fingertips. "Thank you, Maripaz. That will be all."

Maripaz looked hurt for all of a second before bowing. "Yes, Your Highness." Still bowing, she ducked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Zelda turned back to her jewelry box, staring at its contents. Her hands shaking, she removed her earrings and replaced them with a different pair, a pair of glittering sapphire studs that used to belong to her mother.

She no longer had the luxury of acting like a girl. It was time she accepted her role—as princess, as leader, as woman.

Steeling herself, she closed the jewelry box and went to face the world.

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.

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* * *

**— sheik —**

A storm was brewing in the sky above the forest at the base of the Great Plateau. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a storm wind screaming through the leaves of the trees through which Sheik of the Sheikah was leaping. Behind him wood cracked, and he froze, clinging to a branch as it bobbed under his weight. Movement flashed in the corner of his eye and he narrowed his crimson gaze, readying himself. Half a second later, a figure crashed through the leaves toward him.

"Kateri, what part of _stealth mission_ don't you understand?" he asked mildly as his twin sister landed on the branch beside him.

Kateri cursed and swatted his shoulder, her dark braid whipping behind her in the wind. "That doesn't count," she complained. "The wind moved it at the last second."

"A Sheikah moves with the wind," he murmured, just barely audible over the shushing of the leaves. "You have to anticipate where the branch will be before you jump."

Kateri lowered her cowl to stick her tongue out at him. "It's kind of hard to do that when it's thrashing all over the place," she returned, then sighed. "Let's just face it—I'll never be as good at this as you are."

"Giving up?" Sheik taunted, leaping to another tree.

"Hey!" Kateri protested, and followed him. She landed roughly, sending leaves spiraling down beneath her to be snatched away by the wind.

Sheik sighed, "Kat, if not for this wind every monster in the area would have heard _and_ seen that."

"Okay, I get it," she muttered. "You're good, and I'm not. Clumsy Kateri, that's me."

Sheik rolled his eyes. "That's all you'll ever be if you don't take these practice missions seriously. The only way to improve is to make mistakes and learn from them."

"Yeah, well, I'm making the mistakes you made when you were twelve."

"That'd be because of your poor attitude." He began to climb to a higher branch, and Kateri followed, squawking, "Well, aren't you Mr. Holier-Than-Thou today!"

Sheik angled himself between two branches and froze abruptly. "Kat, shh."

"What?" She reached up and hung from the limb to his right, craning her head.

"Up there," Sheik breathed, and nodded at something in the air above them. "See him?" A figure was gliding from the Tower above the Great Plateau, his shape tiny and dark against the gathering storm clouds.

Kateri's eyes went wide with interest. "Ooh, it's the Hero."

"Finally out," Sheik agreed. There was a flicker of movement at the top of the Tower: the Armory Guard, no doubt, keeping an eye on their charge. The other Sheikah patrols had reported increased sightings of the Hero and his guards on the Plateau: hunting wild animals, fighting the monsters that had begun to crop up during the last few years. Today, it seemed, the Hero was getting more experience gliding in windy conditions. The Armory Guard hadn't wasted a moment in the past three years in preparing the Hero for the coming fight with Malice—though when Malice would manifest itself, no one could tell. The signs of its impending arrival were clear enough, however, and even Impa had her worries.

Sheik watched the Hero glide above them and told Kateri, "Why don't you head back and tell Aunt Impa about this."

"Already? We just got here!"

He leveled a gaze at her. "And now it would be prudent to get out of here. You don't want them seeing us, do you?"

"Right, right." Even now, 18 years to the day after the public denouncement of the Sheikah by the royal family, there was still a considerable monetary reward to anyone who brought in intelligence about the potential whereabouts of the remnants of the Sheikah tribe. Kateri began to clamber to a lower branch, then paused and looked up at her brother. "You coming?"

Sheik nodded, his gaze flicking back to the Hero. "I'll be right behind you"—he raised an eyebrow, half smirking—"though I doubt you'd notice if I wasn't."

Kateri quirked a reluctant grin. "You're probably right," she admitted, then leaped off.

A moment later, several panicked birds exploded out of the next tree, giving away her failed landing. Sheik cursed and cast a gaze to the Tower above, but at that exact moment the wind picked up, becoming a mighty gust—a gust that tossed the Hero across the sky like a leaf.

Sheik watched in horror as the Hero struggled to keep hold of his paraglider, but in an instant it was ripped from his hands and sent whirling away on the breeze. Mid-fall, the Hero tried to angle himself back toward the Plateau but was too far from the edge now; as though consigning himself to his fate, he went limp and allowed himself to fall. He was close enough now that Sheik could see the hair whipping around his face—a face that was undeniably, impossibly, looking right at him.

"No," he breathed, horrified for two entirely different reasons.

He'd seen him.

He was going to die.

There was no way he'd survive that. No one could survive a fall that far. The impact would shatter bones, crush organs—

For a fleeting, endless instant, the two locked eyes, and Sheik could have sworn the Hero—smiled.

Something within Sheik flared to life, a flame suddenly ignited deep within his chest.

He recognized that smile.

—a boy in green, clutching a sword, a ball of light bobbing around his head—the same boy again, but it wasn't him, he was darker, sharper, had different eyes, wilder eyes—again it was him and not him, he was shorter, lither, his hair longer—but it was him—they were all him—they were always him—and Sheik—though he had never met him before in his life, Sheik _knew_ him—

_Link_ , a phantom memory murmured. _Link._

"Wait—" Sheik gasped.

Then the instant was over.

With barely a noise, the Hero hit the ground.

.

.

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a double update; chapter three is available now!


	3. Chapter Two: Tested

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Link jumps to conclusions and Zelda struggles with grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally going to be longer, but I decided to cut it in half so you could get it sooner. Not to mention it was a bit emotionally taxing to write Zelda's part, especially since her situation with Hilda mirrors my own; my own twin sister died at birth, so I've been thinking about her a lot lately. This one's for you, Liv.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**— zelda —**

Dark clouds loomed in the sky above Hyrule Cathedral, rain lashing the stained-glass windows that surrounded Zelda where she sat on the raised dais before the altar, facing her people. Her father, Lydia, and Giovanna were seated behind the altar; an impassive Leon occupied in the intricately-carved chair usually reserved for the bishop, her sisters on either side of him. At a podium to Zelda's right, the minister waited for the choir to finish their song, a traditional ballad honoring the goddess Hylia. The song was in an ancient form of Hylian, and Zelda understood only a handful of words here and there— _goddess, light, land_ —so she turned her face to the windows, watching water stream down on the opposite side of the colored glass.

Golden glass formed the faces of the golden goddesses, Din, Farore, and Nayru. Shards of ruby, emerald, and sapphire acted as their eyes, glittering jewels on gold faces. The goddesses were stretched up to the sky, their hands cupped around three glittering triangles—their Gift to the land. On sunny days, this was Zelda's favorite of the scenes depicted in the cathedral's windows, but today, with the darkness outside, the image was muted and dull.

Zelda looked away just as the minister began to speak.

"My good people of Hyrule, we are gathered here today to celebrate the coming-of-age of our very own princess, Her Royal Highness Zelda Lapidus Hyrule. On this joyous occasion we must, however, acknowledge the anniversary of a great loss. On this day precisely eighteen years ago, the princess's dear twin sister was lost to us shortly after her birth. Let us take a moment of silence in memory of our kingdom's departed princess, Her Royal Highness Hilda Kerrington Hyrule. May her spirit watch over us this day."

Zelda was good at adapting to difficulty. The death of her mother. Her father's tempestuous moods, his wildly changing whims. The news that a fortune-teller in Hateno had predicted that Malice would return to Hyrule within the next year. The fact that her Gift still— _still_ —had not surfaced. Even Maripaz's marriage.

These things she could manage. These things could be bottled up, locked away to be dealt with in private, with no one to witness the cracks in her façade.

But this—

No one had told her the minister's speech would refer to Hilda.

No one had told her the crowd in the pews would pause and bow their heads, the silence stifling.

No one had told her that the same pain, the same grief she'd felt every day of her life, would return and wash over her anew, threatening to drown her.

Hilda.

Gods. _Gods_.

Even here, even now, 18 years later, it still hurt. The missing. The emptiness. The knowledge that Hilda should be here at her side, beatific with joy on their coming-of-age—and instead, her infant body, long since turned to dust, was entombed in a private corner of the royal cemetery, separated from the world by a wall of hedges.

Zelda had never gotten the chance to know her sister—maybe that was what made the hurt that much greater. She had no memories of Hilda to comfort her, no smiling visage to summon when things got tough. Just the ever-present, lingering reminder that a twin was supposed to be your best friend for life—and Zelda's twin was dead.

The crowd's respectful silence went on just a beat too long, just long enough for all of the carefully buried grief to resurface, and Zelda felt tears welling up. Clenching her teeth, she blinked back the heat behind her eyes.

She was _not_ going to cry, not here, not now. Not in front of her people.

Not in front of her father.

This was like her mother's funeral all over again.

Perhaps this was a test from the Goddesses—to be burdened with such loss, and yet incapable of expressing her pain. It was a test: to see how much turmoil she could bear. Perhaps—perhaps if she made it through today, Nayru would at last acknowledge her worthiness.

_Please_ , she willed the Goddess, turning her gaze to Nayru's likeness in the window. _I've done everything, everything you've asked of me. Please—just tell me, what am I doing wrong?_

She held her breath. And—

Nothing. Just the patter of rain, a distant rumble of thunder.

As the minister began to speak again, Zelda let out a breath.

She could play the part.

But for how much longer, she wasn't sure. Sooner or later, this vicious cycle, this giving and waiting and receiving nothing in return, this hurting and holding back and hoping for a blessing that still, _still_ hadn't come—sooner or later, it had to come to an end.

It had to.

For if the fortune-teller was to be trusted, Malice was coming within the year.

Zelda sat on the dais and looked out at her people and knew, somehow or another, this would all come to an end.

.

.

.

* * *

**— sheik —**

It was impossible.

The Hero was alive—and he was one of the Goddesses' chosen.

That was the only way to explain it: the bright flash a heartbeat before he hit the ground, the glimpse of an enormous woman made of golden light reaching up to catch him in her cupped palms, pressing her lips to his forehead before she lowered him to the ground more gently.

Then she raised her head. Turned to look at Sheik. Smiled, just barely, almost apologetically.

And then she vanished, and there was only the triangle—the golden triangle that now glinted on the Hero's right hand, visible even from Sheik's tree—to signify that she had ever been there.

Sheik dropped to the ground and looked at him. At the Hero—no. At Link.

_Link_ , something within him was singing, _Link_. And he wasn't sure if it was joy or panic or fury that sent him charging out into the open to bend over Link's prone form.

"Link," he whispered, and was struck by the other boy's appearance. So close, Sheik could now see the paleness of Link's face, the cheekbones jutting beneath the skin, the hair-thin scars that peppered his skin. His tunic, the blue of a Champion's, was torn in a hundred places, patched sloppily with different colored thread. There was dried blood on the edge of one sleeve, and still-healing scar tissue on the lean, muscled arm beneath. Even his hair was dull; it fell almost lifelessly across Link's forehead, longer strands trailing past his chin and onto his exposed neck.

There were certain things Sheik had thought about the Hero, before this—bad things, resentful things, even jealous things— _he was on_ their _side, the side of the people who had burned his village and killed his mother, he was nothing but a pawn, a vain, spoiled, selfish pawn—_ but now, looking at him face-to-face, there was nothing but a warning singing in his head.

_Wrongwrongwrongthisisallwrong—_

Link stirred beneath him and Sheik started, leaping back a foot. His heart was pounding so loud, so fast; on instinct, he felt to make sure his cowl was still in place before he cast a glance up at the Plateau above them. He had the sense that any time now, the Armory Guard would be coming down to retrieve their—

Sheik paused. Their—what? Their charge? Their—

He looked back at Link's face.

Weapon. Prisoner. Plaything.

None of those seemed to fit quite right, but—

They couldn't stay here. That was all he knew.

The Hero's eyes flashed open, slate blue with a ring of gold around the pupil. At once he sat up, scrabbling at his hip for a weapon, but found nothing but the old battered Sheikah Slate hitched there. "Wh—" he started, but Sheik was at his side again, grabbing at his arms, stilling him.

"Look," Sheik said, low and serious, "You have to come with me."

"Wh-what? N-no. No," came the reply. His eyes were so wide, so confused, flickering frantically about him, looking for any familiarity, any escape. Sheik gripped his wrists harder and Link flinched, shrinking in on himself. Startled, Sheik let go.

"Please," he entreated, holding up his hands. "I'm not going to hurt you." He added, holding out a hand to help him up, "Link."

Something—terror or doubt or recognition—flashed in Link's eyes. Rejecting Sheik's hand, he got to his feet on his own despite being visibly unsteady, his wary gaze always on Sheik. "What—" he began loudly, but Sheik pressed a finger to his own lips, looking around, and Link quieted, his face still guarded.

Stepping close, his voice barely above a whisper, Sheik said, "Look. I don't know what they did to you up there, but… I can help you. Okay? I—I know a safe place. You just have to—have to come with me."

Link frowned, his eyes narrowing to blue slits. "What—what do you want from me?"

Sheik blinked and shook his head urgently. "Noth—nothing. Nothing, I swear." He exhaled, breath billowing warm against his cowl. "I just want," he added slowly, "to help. To help you."

Link nodded absently, his eyes still flicking over Sheik's form, lingering on the kunai strapped to his waist, the cowl over his face.

"Okay," Link said.

And then he ran.

* * *

**— link —**

This was one of their training exercises. It had to be, even though there was no way they could have known he'd fall—but how else could he explain this, this—Sheikah?

They'd told him about the Sheikah, when he woke three years ago, blank and empty. The memory flickered back to the front of his mind.

_Sheikah._

_They are the ones who built the Divine Beasts, the Guardians that went savage two hundred years ago and nearly destroyed this land. They are cunning and devious, hoarding their ancient knowledge in their village, Kakariko. Many of them fought alongside Malice during the 100 Years of Calamity. Still, we Hylians were merciful. We offered them clemency, gave them the chance to redeem themselves. We let them back into the castle, let them serve the royal family as in days of old. And see what our good will earned us—Sheikah agents cursed the royal family. They foretold the return of their master, Malice, and in anticipation of its return they cursed the queen with their dark magic, sucking the life from her womb so that her children would not live to fight against them. Yet the Goddesses had mercy on us. Princess Hilda did not live, but Princess Zelda, beloved of Nayru, she fought the curse. And she lived. So did her sisters after her, Lydia and Giovanna. But Sylvia, our queen, did not live. Sapped of her strength, she expired shortly after Giovanna's birth. Our king grieves still, but he has not forgiven the Sheikah for their transgressions. The day of Hilda's death, he chased the Sheikah from his castle. He burned Kakariko to the ground. Yet still the Sheikah live, clinging to the promise of Malice's return._

_It is Sheikah technology that allowed you to live, yes, but only because we at the Armory are strong enough to control it. The Yiga who serve you here are former Sheikah, noble souls who deserted their wicked tribe. They taught us to control the ancient power. They fought with us against the Sheikah. And it is they who saved your life, Hero. The Yiga are your friends, as I am your friend. The Sheikah, however, cannot be trusted. They may try to befriend you, but they are liars and thieves, manipulative and cowardly. If you ever find yourself facing a Sheikah, fight. Fight for your life. Avenge our royal family. But beware, Hero, of their tricks. They have mastery over the darkness. They can become shadows themselves. But you, Link—you are the light, a light that must shine over Hyrule once again. The dark will never prevail so long as you fight. This is why you must train. You must endure pain and suffering to temper your blade, to grow strong enough to defeat Malice and purge all darkness from Hyrule, once and for all._

_You are the light._

_Never forget this._

He had to find a weapon. They hadn't given him a weapon today. Sometimes they provided him with swords, spears, clubs, bows. But that was for combat trials or hunting trips. He wasn't supposed to need a weapon, not today. Today was gliding practice. Today he was unarmed—and he couldn't fight without a weapon.

So he had to find one—before his pursuer caught up with him.

The Sheikah boy was chasing him, not even trying to mask his footsteps. "Please," he was calling, "Link, please wait!"

There it was again.

_Link._

A worm of doubt twisted in his mind.

How did the Sheikah know his name?

It was obvious, he realized. They must have spied on the Armory. Or they knew his name from—before. Before he was asleep. He still couldn't remember a thing from that time, so it was possible.

_Don't worry about your memories_ , they had told him. _They will return. For now, focus on the present. Now is the most important._

But that was three years ago, and still—nothing.

He shook his head to clear it.

Weapon. He needed a weapon. Needed to—

_Fight._

There. A fallen tree branch, knocked down in the building wind. It looked strong but not too heavy—perfect. He raced for it, hurrying to pick it up and get into a defensive position. When he turned the Sheikah boy was there, breathing hard.

Again, Link's eyes fell on the dagger-looking weapon strapped to the boy's waist. He should have disarmed the Sheikah earlier, when he was close enough. Orlon— _no, Captain Reid_ —was definitely going to have words with him later. He was supposed to be able to think on his feet in any scenario, to act like a real warrior. A real Hero. And yet here he was, still making novice mistakes like this. He felt his expression darken.

He was going to win. He was going to prove himself.

This was obviously a test run, a trial to see if he could handle himself in a strange environment, away from the Plateau, against a foreign enemy. If he succeeded, maybe they'd finally let him start training with the other Champions.

He gripped the branch harder, preparing to strike.

And yet—

The Sheikah hadn't drawn his weapon. He just stood there, looking… gentle. Pleading. Again his hands were spread, palms toward Link, a clear sign that he was unarmed. The wind whipped his hair into his eyes—crimson eyes. Link stared, overwhelmed with the feeling that he should trust this Sheikah—no, more than that, he was certain of it, _he knew this boy_ —

Then Captain Reid's voice rang again in his head.

_If you ever find yourself facing a Sheikah, fight. Fight for your life._

This was a ruse. A ploy. This—this boy was just supposed to be distracting him while the other Sheikah moved in. An alarming thought hit him: maybe they were attacking the Armory. Trying to take back their ancient tech, their power, the other warriors slumbering inside.

Maybe this wasn't a test.

Maybe this was a raid.

If the Sheikah were able to capture the Armory, they could turn the tide of the war before it even started. It was up to him to step up to his duty.

_Protect the Armory. Fight the forces of Malice. Be a Hero._

_Be the light._

With a yell, Link raised his weapon and attacked.

.

.

.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update gets the ao3 version of this story caught up with its ffnet counterpart. I'll be on vacation from the 9th to the 17th, so for now enjoy these chapters. More to come!


	4. ANNOUNCEMENT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not actually a chapter. Just an announcement. Will be deleted later. Keep reading for details!

Hey all,

It's been a while, hasn't it? This is partially due to the transition back to school and partially because I wrote myself into a corner here. After some deliberation, I have decided to do a little revision to get things back on track. The prologue and the first half of chapter one will remain largely the same, but the rest will probably end up looking more than a little different. Consider the original draft to be an alternate universe, if you will. I'm doing this in order to get events to align with my new and improved outline and thus deliver to you an even more kickass story. Things you'll get: plenty of emotion, new faces in the form of characters original and familiar, and (hopefully) more frequent updates. Questions like "How did Sidon die?" and "Why were the Sheikah forced into hiding?" will be answered! For now, all I ask is for your continued patience and support. I can't wait to share this story in its best form. For now, expect a little messiness. It'll be worth it, I promise.

Thanks,

        eph


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